


Of Wings and Dreams

by Fictionwriter



Series: Oxford Chronicles [1]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, M/M, Original Character(s), Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionwriter/pseuds/Fictionwriter
Summary: The thing about it was; James loved to fly.





	Of Wings and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Moth2fic for the beta work. Unfortunately I didn’t finish this fic in time for a complete beta so any errors or inconsistencies are all of my own making.
> 
> Written for the Live Journal Lewis Summer Challenge 2017

James Hathaway is an angel.

Well, not in the sense most people understand angels - the spiritual kind from blessed visitations or saintly icons, but a throwback perhaps to the mythical creatures who were consorts to the old Gods? The ancient genes of his maternal ancestors passed down through the ages to rest somehow in a squalling infant?

His great grandmother fed him stories of Odin, Frey and Freya; recited the epics and told him the lore of their ancestors and when he reached puberty as well as testosterone and pimples his wings came in. They were small at first, just tiny nubs on his shoulder blades that popped out when least expected, usually when he was in a proper teenage strop. It didn’t help that clothing was no barrier to their appearance. How that worked James was at a loss to explain but work it did.

His grandmother called him lucky, his parents called him cursed. James didn’t think he was at all lucky and he hoped he wasn’t cursed but by the time he was sixteen his wings had grown to their full maturity and he had learnt the hard way how to control them, how to hide them.

He contemplated cutting them off when he was younger, but he feared they would just grow back again and make the pain of attempted removal worthless.

The thing about it was; he loved to fly, to be alone with the peace and quiet, nothing around him but the clear blue sky, the feeling that if he flew high enough he could go knock, knock, knocking on Heaven’s door. The only bad thing about flying is, you have to come back down to earth again.

It was around the time he had decided to study theology that the Voice began in his head. If the truth be told, the Voice and his somewhat celestial wings were a driving force in his decision. If he had wings and heard voices surely that meant he was indeed blessed by God and destined for the church. The alternative – schizophrenia or another kind of mental illness – didn’t bear thinking about.

The Voice came and went through his university days, a soft and gentle tone that made promises and created vague visions that mirrored in some indefinable way the stories whispered in his ear at his granny’s knee. But the Seminary stifled the Voice, the great hallowed halls swallowing up its echo. It didn’t stifle his wings though and trying to hide them, or fly, because he couldn’t live without flying, in the less than private surrounds became harder and harder.

What would the Church say if they knew he could have modelled for any number of the angelic depictions in their stained glass windows or works of art, and wouldn’t have been out of place at the holy crib so long ago?

So he did the only logical thing. He left the seminary and became a policeman.

~~~

“We’re getting nowhere.” The statement was accompanied by the heavy thud of a file hitting a desktop.

“Well, we do have Raison’s girlfriend, Philippa Marsh, under observation, and he might be daft enough to try and contact her.” James had his eyes on the computer screen but he could feel Lewis Lewis’s gaze on him, which was making his back itch.

“He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I don’t think he’s that stupid,” Lewis said drily.

“Stranger things …” James muttered to the monitor. He heard the grunt from behind him and ignored it. James knew this case bothered his boss; the futility of a life taken before its time was always troubling but more so this time perhaps. They had both seen the body, knew what the murderer had done first hand. It hadn’t been pretty.

Unlike most of their cases it had been easily solved. A young girl, Amy Schumann, daughter of a local councilman, found bludgeoned to death in her parent’s ransacked house. The culprit, one Fred Raison, had left his fingerprints all over the scene and on the murder weapon - a convenient antique candlestick that might have been part of the thief’s booty, and a witness had identified him as the man fleeing the house in a bloodstained jacket. An open and shut case as the saying goes.

Lewis was right, Raison wasn’t very bright, but then he wasn’t really a murderer either, just a petty thief who had been caught breaking and entering and panicked. For all of that it was proving very difficult to track him down and arrest him.

James studied his monitor some more, looking for any kind of link in Raison’s phone records that would give them an idea where the man had got to or who might be helping him. A yawn threatened to surface. He tried to swallow it down, but it fought back and won, bursting to freedom in a gusty breath.

There was silence, only broken a few moments later with Lewis’s quietly voiced query: “Bit of a late night was it?”

James grunted a response and shook his head. He certainly couldn’t tell the inspector he’d been flying over Oxford last night and had settled for some considerable time on the roof of the building opposite Lewis’s flat, a habit he’d got into lately. It was a handy spot to watch from, not that he was spying so much as looking out for his boss, as he told himself frequently. From his high perch James could see right into Lewis’s bedroom and last night the curtains had not been properly drawn so he watched as Lewis tossed and turned then stayed keeping watch long after Lewis had fallen asleep and until the cold light of morning crept across the horizon. Which of course had led to his current sleep deprived state.

He could feel Lewis’s eyes on him and the speculation in them made him twitch but he resisted the urge to shrug that gaze away and fixed his concentration on Raison’s phone records. After a long minute Lewis gave up and James felt the pressure leave his braced shoulders. He started to breathe again.

“That’s odd,” Lewis muttered, his attention now fully on the file in front of him, and their case. James regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“That bloke we interviewed yesterday, the second-hand dealer and possible fence if Serious Crime have it right.”

“Clive Markham,” James supplied helpfully, letting himself relax even more.

“Yeah, that’s the one, said he didn’t know Raison and didn’t deal in stolen goods, was very put out we’d even suggest such a thing.” James nodded and Lewis continued. “Well, according to this report Mr Markham and Raison both served time together in Bullingdon for petty larceny.”

James turned back to the monitor and scanned down the phone list, picking quickly through names and numbers until one in particular stood out. “There was a 30 second phone call placed by Raison to Markham’s shop shortly after the break-in.”

Lewis stood, his chair squeaking against the linoleum. “Think we need to speak to the gentleman again.”

 

Markham was adamant, on reflection he did remember Raison from his own brief incarceration but that was a while ago and he’d not seen the man since.

“We wasn’t mates in there, see. ‘e was just a lad. An’ I got out before him. Haven’t seen him or heard from him since, have I?”

“I don’t know, Mr Markham,” James said. “Have you? He phoned your shop two days ago, just after he’d killed a young girl in a botched robbery.”

There was something there in Markham’s eyes, gone in a blink, but not fast enough for James to miss.

“Two days you say?” Those same hard eyes looked bland now, thoughtful under the bushy eyebrows as the man appeared to think through the question. “Wasn’t here, had a job lot up Kidlington way to look at, a geezer going into an old folks home, the relatives wanted all the stuff out and the money in their pockets. If Raison phoned the shop he wouldn’t have got an answer from me.”

“Well someone answered it,” Lewis said.

Markham turned to the back area of the shop where ceiling length curtains presumably hid an office or storeroom, or perhaps both, and shouted. After a moment a girl poked her head through the lengths of material, she looked about nineteen and the long dark fringe of hair that ran down her forehead all but obscured her questioning eyes while her mouth twisted as she answered with a petulant ‘wot?’

“Dragged you away from your social media ‘ave I?” Markham’s sarcasm matched the girl’s sullen expression. He turned back to Lewis and James. “This is Cheryl, she looks after the shop when I’m away.” He turned back to the girl. “These two are coppers, want to know about a phone call the other day when I was at Kidlington.”

Cheryl shrugged, “Dunno, was a couple of calls.”

“This one would have been at 11.30 am and lasted about 30 seconds. The caller might have identified himself as Fred,” Lewis told her.

Cheryl’s eyes slid to her boss then back to Lewis. “Think there was one about then. He didn’t say who he was, wanted Mr Markham though. I told him he was out and wouldn’t be back in the shop today. He hung up.”

Lewis turned back to Markham. “I’ll ask you again, Mr Markham, did Fred Raison try to contact you again after that call?”

“And I’ll tell you again, no. Now is that all? I have work to be getting back to.”

With nothing more to be gained Lewis nodded and headed out of the shop, but at the door he swung round. “Don’t go too far afield, Mr Markham. We may have some more questions for you at a later date.”

Markham’s frown followed them out onto the street.

“He’s hiding something,” were the first words Lewis uttered as they walked to the car.

James was about to agree as he reached to open the driver’s door but the long-silent Voice, the one he thought had gone forever, sighed near his ear, making him start and drop the keys. Lewis looked him a question but he shrugged and knelt to retrieve them, casting a look around, trying to see who it was. But there was no one, just a woman pushing a stroller near the crossroad and a hooded teenager lazily bouncing a soccer ball at the other end of the street, neither of them were close enough to have been the whisperer.

It had started to rain and Lewis was looking impatient so James wasted no more time unlocking the car.

As James drove through the rain his concentration was on the traffic and the lazy slap of wipers across the windshield, waiting almost expectedly for another sign that the Voice had returned. That didn’t stop him being aware of the glances Lewis kept throwing at him. But it wasn’t until they were nearly back at the station that his boss spoke.

“Are you alright, James?”

James took a breath and looked straight at Lewis with what he hoped was a convincingly puzzled look. “I’m fine, sir. Why do you ask?”

Lewis studied him in the way that no one else did, the way that James just knew looked right through him and deep into his soul. Then clearly not entirely satisfied with what he saw, Lewis shook his head and looked away.

“You know you can talk to me about whatever’s troubling you,” he said.

“Of course, sir. And if something was, you’d be the first person I’d turn to.” James had found a grin now and spread it across his face like jam.

“Smart arse,” Lewis responded with a set-upon look on his face, then obviously decided to drop the subject, “Some background checks into Mr Markham’s business affairs might be in order.”

“I’ll get onto it,” James agreed. “Do you think he is involved with Raison?”

“The man’s too slick by half. I’d lay odds there’s something going on.”

They were quiet for the rest of the journey, Lewis no doubt contemplating Raison and Markham’s possible connection and James wondering whether his imagination had simply played a trick on him and it was the sound of the wind that had unnerved him, or if the nemesis of his past, the unseen but distinctly heard Voice, had returned to bedevil him again.

Once they were back at headquarters James busied himself with the mundane but necessary phone calls and research that would trace Markham’s movements over the last few weeks, and pushed the implication of the Voice to the back of his mind, where hopefully it would stay.

~~~

James was aware it was a dream. He was flying, high, much higher than he usually went, skimming above the clouds, the sky a glory of stars above him. He dipped with the air currents and turned in graceful circles revelling in the feeling of freedom from the pull of the earth below, then realised he was not alone. He stopped and came upright, moving his wings in slight arcs, just enough to keep him where he was. He looked around, the feeling of someone, something, watching him sending a shiver down his spine. Finally he saw what it was. Another winged figure a distance away, as stationary as he was and seeming to hang in the air, his wings barely moving.

They stayed like that for what seemed an eternity before the figure turned and began to fly away.

“No, wait!” James shouted in his sleep. “Who are you?”

But the figure was gone.

~~~

A break in the case came the next day, when James was still working on tracing Markham’s movements. As much as Lewis had thought the man had more sense than to contact his girlfriend he was proven wrong when the call came through that he had been spotted on CCTV near the flat where she lived. A patrol car was already on its way to the address. Lewis told them to keep their distance until they got there.

Philippa Marsh lived in a row of double story units on a mean and dingy street in Leys, not far from the Eastern By-pass. A small patch of green divided the dwellings from the road at the front and there was a solid brick wall to the side and back. A small alley separated them from the next block of units. Philippa’s unit was on the nearest corner.

The patrol car, maned by Sergeant Bryant, who James knew by name, and a constable he’d seen around the station but didn’t know, was waiting further down the road. Bryant filled Lewis and James in when they arrived.

“We got here a few minutes ago, just in time to see Raison going into the flat” he said.

“The girlfriend let him in,” the young constable, who introduced herself as Chris Nolan, added. “Didn’t seem too pleased about it though; they argued on the step before she pulled him inside and slammed the door shut.”

“You’re sure he’s still in there, Sergeant Bryant?” James queried.

“There’s no way out other than the front door or the gate at the side there and we can see both from here,” Bryant said, nodding towards the units. “He’s still in there alright.”

“Right,” Lewis said. “Hathaway, check the back will you? Take Constable Nolan with you while I see if I can roust out our fugitive.”

James nodded and watched as Lewis and Sergeant Bryant headed for the front door of Philippa’s flat then quickly made his way towards the side gate with the constable on his heels.

The gate was unlocked and opened onto a narrow patch of garden. Shouting and screams could be heard coming from the unit and James recognised Lewis’s voice. James motioned Nolan to follow and started towards the back door, but a movement from an upper storey caught his eye. Someone was worming their way out of what must have been the bathroom window. James watched, fascinated, as the figure, who just had to be Raison, gripped onto the drainpipe and began climbing down.

“He’s making for the wall, sir,” Nolan shouted.

She was right. Instead of coming all the way down the pipe and straight into James’ waiting arms, Raison managed to stretch his way over to the brick wall that ran along the other side of the garden. James changed direction, shouting out for him to stop, to stay where he was. But of course Raison didn’t. Instead he ran along the top of the wall in fairly nimble fashion, arms out for balance, then jumped out of sight into the lane behind the units. By the time James and Nolan made it out of the gate again and into the lane Raison was disappearing around a corner.

James took up the chase, Nolan just behind him but his long legs outpaced her. When he rounded the same corner Raison was some way ahead, running full pelt along yet another narrow lane bracketed by tall hedges. James knew he could catch Raison easily, all he had to do was unfurl his wings and fly, give a gentle nudge as he passed over the fleeing man, just enough to make him trip. But that would be stupidity. So he ran. The lane ahead curved enough so that Raison was out of sight again. The lane led out onto a main road. When James got there Raison had vanished.

“Which way, sir?” Nolan had caught up to him and was scanning the area, looking up and down the busy road.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Frustration lent an edge to the response, compounded when Lewis arrived, puffing and out of breath.

“Sorry, sir. I lost him,” James told him.

“Ah, that’s all right, lad. Can’t be helped,” Lewis said consolingly. “Who’d have believed the man had it in him to be a Houdini!”

But it wasn’t all right. He hated letting his boss down and the fact remained James could have stopped Raison if he’d only been able to use his wings. What, after all, was the point of them if he couldn’t use them?

They started a search of the area and questioned Philippa Marsh again, both with no result. Philippa claimed to have no idea where exactly Raison had been hiding and they had no choice but to believe her.

It was a washout, no matter which way you looked at it.

~~~

Frustration at his failure to catch Raison sent James into the air as soon as night darkened the twilight sky. He travelled high and fast, the stretch of wing and muscle easing out the tension of the day, and headed out towards the Oxfordshire countryside, determined to put as much distance between him and the city lights and traffic as he could. It was quieter when he reached the edge of Woodstock, the noise and bright lights of Oxford well behind him. The quaint market town was lit by dim streetlights and the faint glow from curtained windows. The palace was a looming backdrop to the town and, tired now, James landed on top of one of the tall roof towers, sheltered from the glaring spotlights that outlined the palace at night and well hidden from the sharp eyes of any nightwatchman that happened to be passing.

He pulled a battered packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his jeans and lit one, the zippo splattering and sparking before finding a flame, and settled down to watch the night birds gliding after their prey. The only sound was a gentle wind through the leaves of the trees and the occasional screech of an owl.

The roof was littered with butts by the time James decided to leave and he gave a huff of amusement at the thought of some workman or other finding them and wondering how they got there. He took his time going back, enjoying the dark and flying under the cold fire of stars in the night sky.

The storm caught him unawares, its beginnings just an enigmatic breeze that caught and tugged at his hair and whispered through his outspread wings as he wove his way through the air catching the channels and updrafts. Gradually, unnoticed, it picked up; the thin cirrus around him chased away by the bullies that showed huge and dark against the night sky, egged on by the strengthening wind behind them.

By the time James realised he was in trouble it was too late. Lightning flashed so close it felt like a burn that didn’t burn, raising the hairs on his arms, a pre-warning as the sound of ice-cracking thunder sounded so close to him it sent a shock wave through his body. Stunned, his wings heavy with the rain that was now sheeting down, he tried to turn and flee ahead of the maelstrom, but there was nowhere to go; the storm was already on him. It tossed him about like a matchstick, spinning him out of control until he couldn’t tell up from down and he felt himself falling out of the sky, a fallen angel in every sense.

Eventually the spinning eased as he came closer to the ground and he regained some control. Soaked now and still dazed by the thunder James used all his strength to stay airborne and searched for landmarks. He could just make out the spires and domes of the colleges through the dark veil of rain and mist and realised his flight had brought him nearly home, but not close enough. There was somewhere else that was closer though. Lewis’s flat was just beyond the shopping centre he was now flying (struggling rather than flying really) over; he could take refuge there, Lewis would let him stay until the storm ended.

James’ landing was anything but graceful as he crashed into the bins beside the shed at the bottom of Lewis’s handkerchief sized garden. The resulting clatter woke the neighbour’s dog, who set up its own series of barks and yelps, which of course led to Lewis opening his back door to see what all the commotion was about.

James wasn’t ready for that, stunned and breathless as he was and still lying on the edge of the grass, his sodden wings clinging to his back and sides and no time to will them away. He did anyway.

There was a moment’s silence as the dog drew breath and Lewis stood stock still in the doorway, the kitchen light behind him casting its revealing glow across the garden, and James. Then Lewis spoke just as the dog found its voice again.

“James? What on earth?”

By that point James was on his feet, if a bit unsteadily, and his wings were safely tucked away. “Sorry, sir. I got caught out in this lot, thought I’d seek shelter from the storm.” James grimaced at the melodramatic turn of phrase that popped out of his mouth. He sounded like the lost waif of a Dickens novel.

“But what...? Oh, never mind. Come inside, man. You’re soaked to the skin.” Lewis had reached him by then and was tugging on his arm, leading him towards the safe harbour that was Lewis’s home.

Once inside Lewis wasted no time, pushing James towards the bathroom. “Get under the shower, I’ll find something for you to wear. And leave those wet things in the passage; they can go in the dryer.”

James obeyed, peeling the sodden jeans and long sleeved t-shirt away from his wet skin and dumping them outside the bathroom door. The shower was luxury. He closed his eyes and leaned against the hard tiles, resting his head on his crossed arms, and let hot water stream over his shoulders and back. He wondered how much Lewis had actually seen, whether he’d been able to withdraw his wings fast enough, what excuse he could give him for literally landing in his backyard and, most importantly, whether he’d be able to look his boss in the face again. Maybe he could just stay where he was forever and let the flow of the water wash everything of the night away - the cold of his body, the ache of overstretched muscles and the incredulous look on Lewis’s face as he had stood haloed in the doorway staring at him.

But the hot water ran out, chilling him again, and James couldn’t put off leaving the bathroom any longer so he regretfully turned off the taps and stepped out. He spotted the clean clothes on the closed toilet seat straight away. He hadn’t heard the bathroom door open and the thought of Lewis being so close made his body heat up again.

He dressed quickly in the track pants and jumper that had been left, hesitated at the door, then took a deep breath and opened it. The sound of movement drew him towards the kitchen. Lewis was making himself busy with kettle and microwave. He looked around at the sound of James’ footsteps.

“You found the clean clothes then,” he said, pouring hot water then milk into a mug and handing James a steaming cup of coffee.

James felt himself go warm again. “Yes,” he mumbled, accepting the cup. “Thanks,” although whether it was thanks for the clothes, thanks for the coffee or just thanks for not saying the obvious - yet, he wasn’t sure.

“They’re probably a bit on the short side.” Lewis was back at the microwave fiddling with a plate. “But you shouldn’t be such a long streak. No doubt they’ll serve the purpose until your things are dry though.”

James looked down at his bare feet and the bottom of the track pants that showed a good inch above his ankles and felt the ghost of an incongruous smile play on his lips.

“They’re fine,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee.

Lewis dumped the plate of food on the kitchen table. “Here, get this down you. It’s shepherd’s pie, did it for dinner but made too much so you can finish it off for me, save me putting it the freezer.”

James looked at the plate with a suspicion he couldn’t help.

“’ere, I’ll have you know not everything I cook implodes,” Lewis told him, indignant.

James hesitated, still wary, but he sat, suddenly realised how hungry he was as the smell of mince and mash wafted up from the plate. The last time he had eaten seemed, from memory, to have been sometime early that morning.

“This is good,” he murmured with surprise at the first mouthful.

Lewis looked smug. “Even Val said my shepherd’s pie was better than hers. Though she also said that was the only thing I could cook,” he admitted ruefully.

“It’s a life of shepherd’s pie or takeaway then,” James smiled.

“Something like that.” Lewis had taken the seat opposite and was watching him eat. “Do you often hang about in storms in the middle of the night?”

“This one caught me by surprise.”

Lewis nodded as if that made perfect sense. “In the back of my garden,” he said after a moment’s silence.

“That’s where I ended up.” James looked down at the now half empty plate, his appetite slowly eroding now that the moment of truth seemed inevitably near. “Would you believe I was on my way to a fancy dress party?” he continued.

Lewis almost seemed to be considering that, but it wasn’t so.

“Don’t take me for an idiot. I know what I saw, James, as unbelievable as it seemed. And it was something real and very … odd. Would you care to explain the,” Lewis raised his hands to indicate his shoulders, “wings.”

James shrugged, pushed his plate away and picked up the mug of coffee, pleased to see that his hands were only slightly shaking.

“I don’t think I can explain,” he said. “They, the wings, have always been a part of me but I don’t know why or how. They’re just … there.”

“Are there many other...” Lewis paused and James waited for the word ‘creatures’. “...beings like you around?”

Which was almost as bad and conjured visions of puffy white clouds and celestial choirs.

“No. Maybe. I dunno. Never tried to find out. There’s certainly no one else in the family like me.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Lewis muttered.

But the question stirred the memory of the dreams and the Voice and at that moment he wondered if what he said was true, if he was the only one. He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on what to say to Lewis.

“I’ve never spoken to anyone about it. My family know, obviously, but they prefer to ignore what I am, whatever that is. No one else is aware.”

“Then talk to me, James. Tell me about it.”

Lewis’s quiet acceptance, without judgement or doubt, warmed James more than the coffee had, so James did. It was hard to start at first, he wasn’t at all sure where his story began, but as he spoke it got easier.

“I’ve always felt a little different from most people, but you already know that,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile and Lewis acknowledged that with his own smile

“But it wasn’t until I was about thirteen that I realised how truly different I really was. That’s when my wings started to grow. I didn’t know what was happening to me and tried to hide it. Surprisingly that worked for about a year, but such a physical …abnormality can’t stay hidden forever. When my family found out they were horrified.” James stopped and swallowed. It was hard remembering the storm that particular revelation had caused and the gradual estrangement that followed, the pain still raw even after all this time.

“Are they practical?” Lewis asked quietly, then added at James’ questioning look, “You can actually fly?”

“Oh yes, they’re practical. That’s why I got caught out in this lot.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling where the steady sound of rain drummed a beat on the roof, then hurried on at Lewis’s look of wonder. Some sort of mystic exultation was what he didn’t need right now.

“Winged humanoids aren’t just a thing of the bible you know, mythology is full of them – the Greek Hermes and Roman Mercury or the Sumerian Anzu and Hindu Garuda. Not to mention the folk tales of swan maidens and fairies. They’re everywhere, in everything.”

“Yes, Cupid had wings,” Lewis said seriously, then grinned and that made James laugh.

“I’m definitely not Cupid,” he said. “But quite possibly the Norse mythology might be relevant.”

“The Valkyrie,” Lewis said. “It sounds like you’ve made quite a study of it all.”

James gave a sigh. “You could say that. Although it was my great grandmother who made the Norse connection. My maternal ancestors were Scandinavian and granny clung to the myths she’d heard as a child. She convinced my parents that I was a throwback of some sort. I suspect she might be right; mythology is usually based on some sort of reality after all.”

Lewis was about to say something else but the chime of the dryer finishing its cycle distracted them both.

Clinging to the excuse James got to his feet. “I’d better go,” he said. “I’ll just change and be out of your hair. Thanks for the coffee and food.”

Lewis didn’t move. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “You can’t go out again in this; it’s still pouring out there. You might as well stay here for the night and I’ll give you a lift in the morning. Unless of course you’d prefer to fly in tomorrow.”

“I don’t usually fly during the day, unless it’s necessary, and safe.” James started, then realised that Lewis was grinning at him again and how crazy what they’d just been saying sounded. He felt some of the tension leave his body and changed what he’d been about to say. “Yes, okay, thanks. That’s probably a good idea.”

Lewis nodded. “I’ll get some blankets; you can have the sofa.”

Minutes later they were standing somewhat uncertainly beside the temporary bed. James began to speak, to say thank you to Lewis perhaps, again, for his acceptance. But whatever he was about to say got lost when Lewis interrupted.

“I um … will you show me, James? Properly, I mean.”

Lewis’s request was hesitant, as if unsure of James’ reaction, or whether he had a right to ask. But this was Lewis so how could James not give him whatever he wanted. James took off the jumper Lewis had given him and stepped back. If he was going to do this he would do it properly. He gave his shoulders the light shrug that allowed his wings to unfurl themselves.

He knew what Lewis could see - the breadth of his wingspan that probably dwarfed the room, the white primary feathers and the lightly tan secondary. They still felt damp from the soaking they’d had and he moved them slightly, letting the warmth of the room filter through. He deliberately kept his eyes away from Lewis, almost too frightened of what he might see in the other’s face. But when he looked there was none of the disgust or horror he thought there might be. Instead Lewis’s face held only a kind of wonder and something intangible that James couldn’t quite place.

“You don’t think I’m a … freak,” he muttered, needing confirmation.

“A freak? No James, you’re one of a kind, an amazing one of a kind.”

James felt his face flush. “I wanted to cut them off once, when I was a kid, to get rid of them.”

There was horror on Lewis’s face now, and anger. “Now, that would have been a true crime, one you would have regretted. Don’t ever think of such a thing again,” he said. He reached out as if to touch the silken feathers then pulled his hand back again. “What does it feel like when you fly?”

James thought of all the adjectives he could use, but the one he came up with was, “Free.”

Lewis nodded as if something had been confirmed. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said and turned towards the passage and the bedroom, stopping at the doorway to say, “Get some sleep; tomorrow’s another day. Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, sir,” James echoed. He shrugged his wings away, turned out the light, settled on the couch and wrapped the blankets tight around him, feeling too drained and wrung out to sleep yet but unable to think through what his revelations would mean in the long term in his relationship with his boss and whether it would change things between them. He honestly couldn’t see how it wouldn’t and that hurt. His life had been full of secrets and deceptions and some had come into the open tonight but there were others that he hadn’t told Lewis, things he could never tell him.

~~~

The rain had stopped and there was sunshine slanting in through a crack in the curtains when James opened his eyes the next morning. Monty the cat was settled in the middle of his chest, purring noisily, which was probably why he’d woken in the first place.

It was early and he’d slept badly, what sleep he did get plagued by vague dreams and odd images. He sat up, dislodging Monty in the process and rubbed at his face, trying to wipe away the weariness and sense of apprehension. The apartment was still and silent, except perhaps – if he listened hard – for the quiet breath of sleep coming from the bedroom, but James knew that was his imagination playing with his senses.

He stretched out his cramped muscles – the sofa was far too short for his long frame - and dressed quickly in his own clothes, rescued from the dryer the night before, then folded the blankets so they rested neatly at the end of the couch, the track pants and jumper Lewis had given him balanced on top.

He stole out of the door a moment later, leaving a meowing cat and his boss still sleeping. A coward’s retreat, but the only way he could face Lewis right now was in the impartiality of their office.

~~~

James had brought a whiteboard into their office and was writing on it with a coloured marker when Lewis crossed the threshold, a takeaway coffee in each hand. He hovered by the board until James stepped back to study what he had written.

“Sleep well?” Lewis queried, handing over one of the coffees and waiting for James’ response.

“Yes, thank you,” James answered, accepting the cup without shifting his gaze more than necessary. “I’ve been going through a list of what we know about Markham’s business trips and comparing it to unsolved break-ins in the same areas,” he said by way of deflection. “Would you be surprised to learn that there’s a remarkable correlation between the two?”

There was a significant pause before Lewis must have decided to let him get away with it and moved to sit at his own desk.

“I’ll take that as a rhetorical questions,” he said, relaxing back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee. “Come on, tell me all about it.”

Grateful that Lewis wasn’t going to press for an explanation of his early morning retreat from the flat, for the moment at least, James started to outline what he’d found only to be interrupted by Innocent hovering in the doorway.

“Any progress on finding the elusive Mr Raison yet?” she enquired.

“Not yet, ma’am. But we’ve been working on a connection between Clive Markham and Raison and Hathaway was just about to tell me what he’s come up with,” Lewis told her.

Innocent came all the way in and leant back on Lewis’s desk with her arms folded. “Carry on then, sergeant.”

James looked at his crisscross of crimes, Markham’s business trips and dates.

“There’ve been six unsolved break-ins over the last three months, from Luton through to Cheltenham, including our murder,” he said, indicating each statistic with his marker. “And as you can see, Markham has been in the area of all six no longer than a week beforehand.”

“Are they the only unsolved robberies in those areas?” Innocent asked.

“Of course not,” James admitted. “But all these cases have the same MO and there’s reason to believe the same perpetrator was involved.”

“So you think Markham has been setting up the robberies and Raison has been committing them under his direction?” Innocent asked.

“Seems a reasonable deduction, ma’am,” Lewis said. “Markham has the ideal opportunity to observe the potential victims.”

“Reasonable, yes. But, not to put a dampener on your hard work, James, all this could also be coincidence, especially as we don’t have anything solid to connect the two.” Innocent pushed herself up from the desk. “We need to find Raison, then we can work on Markham’s connection, if any.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lewis muttered as Innocent walked from the room.

“Well, any ideas?” he asked of James when she’d gone.

“If we’re right and Markham is the ringleader then he is probably hiding Raison somewhere,” James mused.

“Agreed,” Lewis said. “But where?”

“Markham’s office girl, Cheryl, might know more than she was willing to tell us in front of her boss,” James suggested.

Lewis nodded. “See if you can find out where she lives, James. We can pay her a visit after work.”

~~~

Cheryl stood in the open doorway of her flat and glared. She wasn’t happy to see them.

“Oh, it’s you. What d’you want?” The graceless question was delivered around a glob of chewing gum.

“Just a bit of a chat. Mind if we come in?” Lewis was at his charming best and took a step forward before Cheryl could block his move, so she grudgingly retreated and allowed them through the narrow doorway.

The flat was shabby, like the neighbourhood it was set in, and utilitarian in its simplicity but there were cheerful puppy and pop star posters covering the wall paper and colourful throw rugs on the dilapidated furniture. They didn’t bother to sit, but rather stood in the middle of the room. Cheryl took up a defensive stance in front of them and waited.

“We wanted to ask you some more questions about the phone call you received the other day,” Lewis said.

“I already told you. There was a call, I don’t know who it was and I don’t know anyone called Fred Raison.”

James took a photo from his inside pocket and held it up. “Do you recognise this man?”

Cheryl glanced at the photo then quickly away. “Never seen him,” she said.

There was something there; recognition, and fear perhaps. “Are you sure?” he insisted. “Perhaps you should look at it again, properly this time.”

Cheryl shook her head and turned away, refusing to look at the photo again. “Told you what I know,” she said.

“This is important, Cheryl,” Lewis told her, insistent, determined to get at anything the girl might knew. “A young girl is dead and we have to find the man responsible. Anything you can tell us, anything at all, will help.”

“She was nineteen, the girl who was killed.” he continued when she still stayed silent. “About the same age as you, I’d say.”

“Look, I need my job okay?” Cheryl said finally. “Markham’s a pig and the pay’s shit, but it’s a job. And he’ll likely kill me if I say anything.”

“Please, Cheryl, think carefully about this,” Lewis said. “You don’t want to end up in trouble for lying to the police now, do you?”

The gum did another revolution as Cheryl considered the situation and her options, then was gone in one swallow. “I seen him, the man in the photo. He turned up at the shop just before closing, wouldn’t leave. So I phoned Mr Markham. He was on his way back from Kidlington, told me to wait until he got there and not to let him leave.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Lewis said. “What happened when Markham arrived?”

“Told me to piss off. But he was mad as a rat, you could see that. Starting going off at the guy straight away, called him a stupid git. I got out of there as quick as I could.”

Having decided to talk, there seemed to be no holding her back now. “I went out the back to get me coat. The guy was like begging Mr Markham to help him, said it was his fault he was in trouble. Mr Markham was telling him to shut up and he’d think of something. Just as I was slipping out the back door I heard Mr Markham say he knew a place he could go, to hide out for a while.”

“Did you hear where that was?” James asked.

“Nah, I was out the door by then.”

“If you had to guess,” James urged. “What would you come up with?”

Cheryl considered the question. “The warehouse? Or that’s what he calls it. It’s just an old building somewhere out by the A35. Never been there m’self but I’ve got the address here somewhere, had to tell a client where it was once.”

She picked up a bag from a side table and hunted through it for a few minutes before giving a satisfied grunt, removing a post-it note and handing it to Lewis.

“Thank you,” Lewis said, taking the note and slipping it into his pocket after giving it a quick glance. “You’ve done the right thing, you know.”

She gave a shrug, a barren job-seeking future written in the gesture, then pulled another stick of gum from the same bag that had produced the address and popped it in her mouth. “Sure,” she said. “No problem. Just give me a reference some time.”

She watched them leave from the doorstep, turning inside and shutting the door only when they were in the car.

  
James felt an unaccountable depression as he drove towards the address Cheryl had provided. He wasn’t sure if it was her fatalistic gum chewing approach to her future, or the fact that he was still avoiding talking to Lewis about the previous night and his own revelations.

Lewis himself was on his mobile, talking to Innocent to organise a search warrant and backup to meet them at the address.

“You think he’ll be there?” James asked when he’d finished the calls.

“If the lass has it right, then yes. This time we might have him.”

James was quiet for the rest of the journey, the silence not quite comfortable but not quite awkward either, just there. The day was drawing out now, darkness starting to come sooner with the inevitable approach of autumn. James almost wished they’d left this until morning, when there would be full light and no evening mist. But by then Raison might have taken flight and left again, that was if he was there at the warehouse at all.

The address Cheryl had given them led to what at first looked like a vacant field caged by trees and a barbed wire fence. There was a wooden gate though, which was closed, but tyre tracks could be seen on the other side leading along a path that twisted its way through the trees.

They left their vehicles on the side of the road and followed the path on foot, James and Lewis in the lead, the backup team, co-incidentally the same two officers from their other, aborted, attempt to catch Raison, following.

Warehouse was perhaps a generous description of the building they found at the end of the path. Rather, it was nothing more than a large square garage. but it looked solid enough for all that the paintwork was faded and there was rust on the guttering. A VW panel van was parked on the grass at the front of the building, close to the double doors. Beyond the barn appeared to be open field.

There was a smaller door to the side and James watched as Lewis approached it. He rapped smartly on the metal.

“This is Detective Inspector Lewis, Open up, I have a warrant to search these premises.”  
Nothing happened, he lent forward and tried the door, which conveniently popped open.

Inside was lit with florescent tubes that brought the stacks of furniture into stark relief. Most of it was old and worn and pushed in haphazard fashion against one wall; sofas, bookcases and boxes of books spread around the floor while tables and cabinets were cluttered with the bric-a-brac of people’s lives. There was an office on the other side and Clive Markham could be seen behind its glass windows, staring at them in surprise, while a man James recognised as Fred Raison stood with his hand on the latch of a rear door.

Lewis shouted for them to stop, but neither man paid any attention. Markham came from the office and made a dash for the rear door at the same time that Raison slipped through.

Chris Nolan was the closest to Markham and she lunged for him but he backhanded her away and she stumbled into Sergeant Bryant. James moved in to intercept and could see that Lewis was already halfway through the rear door, going after Raison.

Markham was a big man and he wasn’t giving in without a fight. He lashed out at James, grazing his jaw with a heavy fist but by then Bryant was there and between the two of them they had their man pinned to the floor while Nolan efficiently handcuffed his hands behind his back.

“Get him out to the squad car,” James said, getting to his feet. He didn’t wait for a response but headed for the rear door at a run.

When he opened it the field stretched out before him and ended in an embankment on the far side covered in trees and shrubs. There was a ditch running across the field several yards in front of the embankment. Both Raison and Lewis were just in front of the ditch, Raison with his back towards James and Lewis facing him. Raison was advancing, forcing Lewis to move back and James could see the glint of the ugly looking hunting knife Raison held and could hear Lewis talking to him but the man wasn’t listening, just moving inexorably forward. The ground was crumbling under Lewis’s feet and he was close to falling into the ditch. Raison just kept coming at him with his knife, striking out in quick jabs.

James started to run, then realised he’d not get there before something disastrous happened, it was too far and he was too slow. There was no thought involved this time, his wings unfurled on instinct alone and James was flying low and fast towards the two figures. He could see Lewis’s eyes widen and his mouth go slack with surprise. Then he was on them. He grabbed Raison under the armpits, lifting him up and over Lewis.

Raison struggled, the knife coming dangerously close, and James didn’t think he could do it for a moment, didn’t think he’d have the strength to gain the height he needed to lift a full grown man and fly without them both ending up in the ditch. But he managed, by force of will alone. Once they were clear of the ditch he let go. Raison fell face down, hitting the ground with a thud that made James wince. James felt himself stagger with the sudden release of his burden and thought for a moment he too was going to end up in a heap on the ground, but he recovered and executed what he hoped was a graceful landing but felt more like an ungainly flop, his wings gone as soon as he hit the ground.

Lewis had managed to hurdle the ditch and was crouching by Raison’s side. The man seemed to be out cold. Constable Nolan was running across the field towards them.

“How is he?” James asked as he got closer.

“Just had the wind knocked out of him I think.” Lewis looked up at him with amusement and a glimmer of something James couldn’t identify. “I thought you said you didn’t fly during the day.”

“No, I said I didn’t fly during the day unless necessary,” James told him with a smile.

Raison was starting to show signs of recovery and Chris had arrived. James looked towards her with a frown, he knew she hadn’t been behind him when he had begun his own run across the field but how much she had seen of his flying tackle with Raison he wasn’t sure – not to mention what Raison might have realised was happening. Suddenly he felt like a pit had opened up in front of him and he was in danger of being swallowed up by it. The only consolation was that the trees and shrubbery effectively shielding them from the A35 meant it was unlikely they could be seen from the road.

“James,” Lewis’s voice was low but insistent. James turned back to see Lewis’s hand held up to him. James clasped it hard and pulled his boss to his feet. Lewis kept hold for a moment staying close enough to whisper in James’ ear. “Don’t worry lad, we’ll bluff it out somehow if necessary.”

James nodded, the tension leaching out of him. Lewis let go, satisfied, then turned to Chris.

“Cuff this one and bring him along will you?” he said.

~~~

It was creeping close to midnight by the time both Markham and Raison were formally charged and the paperwork completed.

Markham had continued to deny his involvement but Raison caved in immediately and admitted to the crimes, implicating Markham as the one who orchestrated the break-ins. Then Markham’s denials became moot when a candlestick matching the murder weapon was found in Markham’s safe in the warehouse. Both men were now cooling their heels in the cells.

The only thing that bothered James was Raison’s continued assertions when he was being questioned that he’d been attacked by a ‘bloody great bird’ before his arrest, which had made Lewis grin like a loon and James squirm. Chris Nolan had grinned too when word of what Raison said got around the station, but if James thought she had looked at him a little oddly it was probably just his imagination.

He closed the final file with a sigh of relief, pushed it to the side of his desk and debated whether or not to wait for Lewis to come back. He’d gone to speak in person to Amy Schuman’s parents, to tell them her killer had been caught and was behind bars. James offered to go too, but Lewis just shook his head. It was a bittersweet victory for Lewis to be able to give the grieving couple closure but James knew how deep the sadness for them would be. But at least Lewis would do it well, he was good at that.

He’d just decided to hang around a while longer when Lewis rang him. James answered on the first ring from his mobile.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“As well as can be expected when you have to talk to parents who have just lost their daughter,” Lewis answered, his tiredness leaching through the radio waves. “Are you still in the office?”

“Yes, but I was just about to leave,”

“Fancy fish and chips at mine? There’s a chippy I know that stays open late and I could do with some company.”

“Of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” James clicked off and headed for the door.

  
The ten minutes turned into fifteen because James stopped off at the all-night Tesco and bought a bottle of whiskey. He knew Lewis would have beers in the fridge but the occasion seemed to call for something stronger. He held the bottle up when Lewis answered the knock on his door and Lewis grinned, holding the door open wide.

“Good lad,” he said. “I’ll just get some glasses. The food’s in the front on the coffee table, still wrapped up. Go on through.”

The TV was on, a late night movie - James Bond chasing someone over snow covered mountains - and James could smell the aroma of battered fish and crispy chips. His stomach rumbled in anticipation, it seemed ages since he’d last eaten, in fact he couldn’t even remember when that was. He took off his suit jacket and tie and threw them over the back of one of the arm chairs.

Lewis reappeared with the promised glasses and a couple of forks. James poured a generous amount of the amber liquid in each and they settled onto the sofa together as they usually did and ate straight from the newspaper, the coffee table pulled up close.

“How did the Schuman’s take the news of the arrests?” James asked eventually, when they had finished, the remains of the meal cleared way and the television turned off.

Lewis took a long drink from his glass before answering. “They were pleased of course. But it doesn’t ease the pain. It never does.” But as quick as Lewis’s melancholy had appeared it was gone and he was looking at James with a smile.

“That was quite a feat of yours today. Wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes.”

James took a long swallow of his drink before coming up with a response. “Couldn’t think of any other way of getting there fast enough.”

“Oh, I’m grateful right enough, thought I was a goner there for a minute.” Lewis said. “But you took a risk, maybe too big a one. If anyone’d seen you - ”

“I know. But they didn’t. Well, at least I don’t think they did. Anyway what else could I do?”

“What else indeed.” Lewis shook his head as if James’ question had no relevance. “Have you ever thought of telling anyone else about your gift?”

Not a gift thought James but he didn’t voice the sentiment. “Who would I tell? It’s not something that would come up in casual conversation ‘by the way, I’ve got wings and can fly like a bird what about you?’”

Lewis tipped his glass up again. “You are an awkward sod at times,” he said. There was no sting in the words, just familiarity. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it. There must have been someone in your life at some point you felt you could talk to about it, a lover perhaps or someone when you were in the seminary?”

James was silent. What should he explain? That there had been very few lovers and he’d left the seminary rather than come out as anything other than just another ordinary seminarian; or the fact that up until now the only person he felt at all comfortable about telling his secrets to was sitting next to him.

“I’m sorry, forget it, that was a stupid question, and none of my business,” Lewis said as the silence stretched.

James ignored that. “There hasn’t been anyone else who I’d have thought would understand, who wouldn’t look at me as if I was something … abnormal,” he said.

“Only a fool would think that.”

It was said without thought and it looked like Lewis was about to say more as his hand came up as if to brush against James’s cheek or tuck a stray wisp of his short hair from his forehead. James felt himself leaning forward, waiting for the touch. But instead of the longed for contact Lewis’s hand dropped to his glass and he turned away to take a last swallow of whisky, making James think he’d imagined the gesture.

The silence became strained again, but James didn’t know how to break it. Lewis did though a few moments later, and in a way that was totally unexpected.

“It’s too late in the day for this conversation,” he said, getting abruptly to his feet. His voice sounded raspy from the liquid fire. “I can hardly think straight and you look in about the same state. We both need some sleep,”

“You’ll be staying of course,” he continued, putting the empty glass on the table with a thump. It wasn’t a question.

James rose too, feeling unbalanced. His own glass was empty and he put it down next to Lewis’s. “Yes, yes …” James started then lost the thread of what he should say. “I’ll get some blankets. For the sofa,” he qualified when Lewis just looked at him.

“It’s too late for that an’ all, just come to bed. It’s a queen size so there’s plenty of room; unless you’re worried about your virtue.” It was almost a challenge

“Of course not, sir,” he said, plastering a smile on his face. “You are and always will be the perfect gentleman.”

Lewis grunted but didn’t take up on the frivolous response. “Well, come on then,” he said turning to the doorway.

James followed, thoughts twisting feverishly in his mind because he didn’t know this version of Lewis, the one that could turn from teasing to serious so quickly, and wasn’t sure what it meant.

He still felt awkward and unsure once they reached the bedroom but Lewis was businesslike, searching in the wardrobe for a moment before pulling out the same track pants James had worn the night before, freshly laundered and smelling of soap powder.

“Here, you can wear these. I’ll be back in a minute.” Then he was gone and James could hear him at the back door, calling Monty.

James pulled off his shoes and socks then untucked his shirt and stripped it off, along with his trousers and underpants, and put the track pants on. The sheets were cool against his bare skin when he slid into bed. He turned to face the wall and closed his eyes.

Lewis came in a few minutes later and James could hear the rustle of his clothes, then the other side of the bed dipped.

“Goodnight, James,” Lewis said, once he’d settled with his back to James.

“Goodnight, sir”

There was a huff of amusement then silence. James could feel the warmth of Lewis’s nearness. It was … unsettling and he thought he’d never get to sleep. But he did, the sound of soft breathing and the steady heartbeat he swore he could hear beside him lulling him into somnolence.

~~~

James was flying, his wings moving lazily as he caught the thermals that helped lift him. He couldn’t remember deciding to fly, couldn’t remember anything past falling asleep feeling comfortable and safe in Lewis’s bed. James thought about that. He was sure he hadn’t left the bed but equally sure he wasn’t dreaming. This was too real, he could feel the coldness of altitude against his skin, the thin air that made his lungs work that little bit harder and he realised he was still wearing the track pants Lewis had given him to sleep in.

He was high too, very high, the clouds white and grey billows surrounding him and if he looked to the side he could see them make shapeless forms that appeared then disappeared the more he tried to make them out; animals perhaps, or misshapen dragons. It was surreal.

“You’re not dreaming. This is reality, though not one you are used to.”

The Voice startled him, nearly sending him into freefall but he steadied himself and came upright, turning, trying to find the source.

“I’m here. You’ll see me when you look with your mind as well as your eyes.”

James closed his eyes for a moment and cleared his mind, then opened them and looked around again, slowly this time, searching and found what he was looking for, recognised the figure as the same one he’d been seeing in his restless dreams, the one who had teased him so recently. Tall, arrogant, with outspread wings of pure white, the being was male and beautiful silhouetted against the sun so that he seemed to shine with an unearthly glow.

“Who are you?” James asked “What are you?”

The smile on the figure’s face was fond but didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m the same as you. Or perhaps I should say that you are nearly the same as me,” he answered. “You can call me Hábrók if you want.”

“I thought I was alone, that I was the only one like – this.”

“No, you’re not unique by any means. There are many like us but not many who know what they are.”

James shook his head “You talk in riddles. What do you want with me?”

“What do I want?” the being who called himself Hábrók smiled again and something in that smile sent a throb of discomfort through James, although why he couldn’t say.

“I’ve seen you, James Hathaway, the genius child. Seen you grow, watched you from afar. The world of the humans is not for you, you belong with your own kind. We could do so much together you and I.”

“And what is _our kind_? Who am I?” James asked, wanting answers but wary just the same.

“So many questions, James.” Hábrók turned and began to move away. “Follow me, and I will try to answer them.”

They flew until they reached a valley surrounded by tall snow-capped mountains. Wildflowers in every shade of green and yellow, blue and violet grew in perfusion on the valley floor while the sweeping slopes bore tall majestic fir trees. It could have been an alpine valley anywhere in the world, but James knew it wasn’t anywhere in his world. It was too picture-perfect to be real.

Hábrók landed gracefully and settled down onto the grass beside an idyllic, gently flowing stream, James followed and stood a short distance away. With his wings withdrawn Hábrók looked like anyone else; blue eyes, hair as blond as James’s, better than average looks, and his pose suggesting an awareness of his own attraction. He was wearing jeans and sneakers but, like James, he was bare chested. He leaned back on his hands, looking up at him.

“Do sit down, James, and try to relax.” He waited until James had done as he asked before speaking again.

“To answer your question; we have been called by many names over the ages, even fairies.” The last was said with a scoff. “So you could choose whichever you like to describe us because all would have an element of truth. Suffice it to say we are part of the gods of old that no one sees or hears anymore. We rose from the mists, the same as Odin and his brothers and countless other gods. We were legion in our time and will be again. Is that enough explanation for you?”

“Not nearly enough,” James told him. “Odin and the other gods are myths from a long ago world that have no relevance in this day, or to me. And I still don’t know why I’m here.” He looked around, taking in the perfection that surrounded him. “Wherever here is.”

Hábrók looked amused. “Don’t discount the gods so easily, James. Just because many are not seen and hardly worshipped anymore doesn’t mean they aren’t still around. As to where, you could say you are between worlds, where endless possibilities exist.”

James tried to make sense of it all but failed, so he moved on. “You still haven’t explained the why,” he said.

Hábrók laughed this time. “To learn of course. It’s time you left your ignorance behind and came to know what your potential is. This,” he encompassed the surrounding valley and mountains with a sweep of his arm, “is nothing compared to the wonders you could uncover, the things you could do, if you only tried. There’s so much more to our kind, things you have no notion of. But I can teach you, show you how to bring out the power that’s inside you. Make you what you were meant to be.”

“Why would you want to try and teach me if I’m so ignorant?” James mused. “There must be many more of ‘our kind’ if we are legion. So why me? What makes me so important to you?”  
.  
“Enough questions!” The smile was gone now, impatience and something else, a wariness perhaps, replacing it. Hábrók stood and turned towards the mountains. “Come, there is much to do.”

There was something wrong. There was no dreamlike quality to what was happening, it seemed real enough, but at the same time James couldn’t quite believe it, or what the being called Hábrók was saying.

He got to his feet but stayed where he was. “I’m the only one you’ve found aren’t I? The only one of ‘our kind’.” he said, suspicious and trying to push Hábrók into some kind of revelation that didn’t involve meaningless platitudes. “If there are others like me, us, then you would have taken me straight to them.” There was a flash of insight then. “Unless they are hidden away and you haven’t found them, or perhaps don’t even exist.”

Hábrók remained maddeningly calm, but James had the feeling he’d hit a nerve. “You don’t know how wrong you are, James,” he said, managing to sound both amused and angry at the same time. “You are but a child and like most children, willful. Come!” Insistent this time, demanding.

James shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not unless you’re willing to explain here and now what it is you’re offering. I’m not walking blindly into anything.”

Hábrók rounded on him then, fury on his face, and James took a step back. “You’re a fool! What I offer is priceless and far beyond what any puny human could ever envisage. And yet you question and reject me.”

James didn’t answer, just stood his ground and waited for what would happen next.

Hábrók moved closer so that he was in James’s space “You do put far too much importance on the human side of your nature, James. And that’s a pity.” He said, suddenly relaxed now, almost conciliatory, but the fury was still there when you looked closely enough. “I suspect it’s that human you feel so much for, your superior? Lewis? I’ve seen you together.” Hábrók smirked then and shook his head. “He is of little account, a small hindrance that can easily be dispensed with.”

“Leave him out of this.” James said, something cold twisting inside him at the implied threat. “He has nothing to do with any of it.” He let his wings unfurl. “I think I’m ready to leave now.”

“Very well, as you wish. You may go, for now.” His tone was generous, the small smile that played at his lips condescending. “But don’t underestimate me, James. I am more powerful, can be more frightening than you would imagine.”

The mountains and meadow began to revolve around James, a blur of green and white, and a wind picked him up, spinning him in circles, howling in his ears but he could hear Hábrók’s last words above its roar.

_“And I don’t give up easily. Think about that in your dreams and remember it when you wake.”_

~~~

James woke with a start. The valley was gone, Hábrók was gone and he was in bed again with Lewis breathing evenly next to him. The afterimages of the valley were still in his head, real and vivid. It was early morning but how early he wasn’t sure and didn’t bother to check; all he knew was that sleep was gone.

He lay there, confused and disorientated. Then when the world stopped spinning he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Lewis. His clothes were on the floor where he’d dropped them and he gathered everything up, pausing for a few seconds to watch Lewis sleeping before tiptoeing to the bedroom door. He dressed quickly and left, wondering why he felt like a prowler. Sneaking out of Lewis’s flat seemed to be becoming a habit, one he thought he should break before it was too late.

It was chill at this hour of the morning and he huddled into his suit jacket, wandering through the streets, smoking far too many cigarettes and trying to sort reality from delusion. Eventually he found himself by the river, at the park bench where he and Lewis often sat when things weren’t going well with a case and they needed to take a step back, talk it through.

The sky was lighter now and James watched the swans that made their graceful way along the water. It was still early and there were few commuters wending their way to work so his contemplation was mainly undisturbed until Lewis was there in front of him, wearing worn grey trousers, a long sleeved flannel shirt and a dishevelled look.

“You do take a bit of finding sometimes, lad,” he said, gazing at James in a way that made him shift uncomfortably.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be looking for me.”

Lewis turned his eyes skyward for a moment; James suspected it was exasperation. “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee. It’s too chilly to sit here for long and you look half frozen,” he said, shivering slightly himself at the breeze that was coming off the water.

The café was warm and empty. They sat in a corner, away from the door and ordered from the young waitress, who looked pleased to have customers to serve. Lewis waited until their coffees arrived before he spoke.

“What’s up, James? What’s happened that made you leave like that?” Lewis asked.

“Dreams,” James told him. “Just dreams. They make it hard to sleep sometimes,” he added at Lewis’s persistent look.

“I see. And I suppose you don’t want to tell me about them?” Lewis reached across the table to grip James’s wrist. “You know, what I said before, about talking to me about anything at all, it still holds.”

James looked down at the hand on his sleeve then up to meet Lewis’s eyes. There are new lines there, new folds in the achingly familiar face, as if Lewis too has his sleepless, dream-filled nights. He felt himself relax under that look, unaware before of just how tense he had become.

“I know,” he said. “It’s just sometimes I can’t sort out what’s real or imagination; what exists or doesn’t exist.”

“Well, this exists,” Lewis said, “Us, sitting here drinking coffee at an ungodly hour of the morning when we should still be in bed, is real. So tell me about the rest.”

James smiled, the memory of being in bed with Lewis something solid he could hang onto. He thought for a moment, picking out the bones of what was relevant and what was not from his memories.

“When I told you I thought I was the only one like me,” he began. “Well, that might not be entirely true.”

He told Lewis everything; his dreams that didn’t seem like dreams anymore, the being who haunted his life, the years of hiding and uncertainty. The only thing he left out was the implied threat to Lewis himself and when he’d finished their coffee cups were empty and Lewis was silent, his expression unfathomable. Perhaps this had been a mistake after all.

The café was filling up now, office workers queuing for takeaways and early morning risers seeking breakfast. The noise level had risen and there were people sitting at the nearby tables.

Lewis pushed his cup away and stood up. “Let’s go back to mine where it’s a bit quieter.” he said. “I can make us some breakfast.”

The sky had turned from slate grey to a flawless blue while they were in the café and they took their time wandering back to Lewis’s flat. Conversation was sparse, Lewis obviously saving what he had to say until they were alone.

James took his suit jacket off when they arrived, and his tie and wondered why he’d bothered to put it on in the first place – but then his thought processes had been addled at the time. Lewis had gone through to the kitchen and James followed the sounds of activity to find him loading bread into the toaster.

“I won’t pretend to know what the truth of all this would be,” Lewis started. “But it seems to me these dreams of yours are based more on reality than flights, if you’ll excuse the pun, of fantasy. At least it explains quite a few things.”

James breathed a sigh of relief, Lewis obviously believed him, accepted what he’d told him as a truth rather than a fantasy, which went a long way to relieving his own mind.

“Yes, I suppose it does.” James said, concentrating on the toast he was buttering. The jam went on next and he handed the plate to Lewis.

“So you think this Hábrók has the right of it?” Lewis took a bite from the toast before continuing. “That you are descended from some kind of ancient race. Though I’d discount the gods bit.”

James grinned at that. “Who knows? Like I said before, myth has come from reality quite often, a kind of oral history, passed down through the generations. My great grandmother certainly thought it was true, and it does make a kind of crazy sense. The bit I’m not sure of is what Hábrók really wants with me.”

Lewis looked troubled with that. “One thing’s for certain,” he said. “He sounds dangerous and he can get inside your head. You might not have a choice but accept that there is more going on here, especially if he decides to come back and try to get you onside again.”

Lewis was right. There was so much he didn’t know or understand but remaining in ignorance was no longer an option. He put it all aside for the moment as something to be examined more closely later. There was something else he had to know now, even if the knowledge hurt. He looked at the toast he’d just prepared for himself suddenly not feeling very hungry.

“Robbie,” James hesitated, horrified for a moment to realise he’d used Lewis’s name instead of the ubiquitous sir. But Lewis didn’t seem to notice, just looked at him with raised eyebrows so he carried on. “Does it bother you?” he said, then qualified when Lewis’s eyebrows went higher, “that I’m not human?”

“What are you on about? You’re as human as I am, lad,” Lewis said. “You just have some … accessories.” He waved his hands vaguely in the direction of James’s shoulders.

James had never thought of his wings as accessories but there was always a first time. In fact the notion was so amusing that James wanted to laugh out loud, or kiss Lewis. Laughing seemed to be the best option, so he did.

Lewis was grinning too and suddenly James didn’t care about crazy dreams or other worlds, there was just the two of them in a world that was their own, both laughing at something that wasn’t really all that funny. It didn’t matter.

They were close and James could see the humour shining in Lewis’s eyes. Then the laughter died and Lewis was looking at him with something James couldn’t grasp, but it was impelling and James did what he’d wanted to do all along, and kissed him. It was all over in a second, just a soft brush of lips that felt like a promise, but the gasp that followed and the silence after was deafening.

James turned away from Lewis’s startled gaze, already fleeing, cursing himself for the idiot he was; everything he’d had gone in a moment of utter stupidity. He made it to the door before Lewis’s voice halted him.

“James! Stop … please.” It was hesitant, a plea rather than a command.

“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder, unable to face Lewis. “Forget I did that, it was stupid.”

There was a hand on his arm then, turning him around and Lewis was searching his face and James felt vulnerable, knowing what it was he would see.

“Ah, lad, you’re never stupid. But maybe I am; an old fool who should know better,” he said. The hand that was on his arm moved to James’s face to give a gentle caress along his cheek before moving to the back of his neck. Lewis pulled him down so their faces were only inches apart.

Then they were kissing again, properly this time; slow and tentative at first then heated and almost desperate – a kiss that was real and held promise and the taste of jam. James melted into it, his breath catching at the scrape of morning beard because Lewis hadn’t bothered to shave before coming to find him, and the feel of those fingers scratching against his neck. He was startled to realise his arms were wrapped tight around Lewis and couldn’t remember doing it, but he wasn’t going to let go. They pulled apart finally, both panting for breath.

“You’re neither old, nor a fool,” James said, resting his forehead against Lewis’s.

“That remains to be seen,” Lewis told him. “The fool bit that is. I’ve wanted you for so long but never been selfish enough to do anything about it and now …”

“Selfish? What on earth makes you say that?” James said, puzzled.

“Fear,” Lewis said. “That I didn’t, don’t, have the right.”

James pulled back to find Lewis’s eyes, needing to read them, and saw the stricken honesty there. And that was wrong on so many levels, but the only way James could convince him of that was to kiss him again, so he did. It was Lewis who broke away first, his face satisfactorily flushed, his breathing erratic.

“You know,” he said. “I’ve been waking up every morning lately to find you’re not there. I was hoping that one morning I would wake and you are.”

“I think that can be arranged,” James told him.

“Good, make sure you do,” Lewis said.

James kept his promise. The next morning, when Lewis woke, James was beside him in his bed ready to show Lewis in a convincing way that he was there to stay.

~~~

James swept over the peaks then down through the mists that drifted across them to the valley below. It was autumn now and while the sun was shining the air was frost-cold against his skin. He should have been wearing something warm but he enjoyed flying bare chested, feeling the beat of his wings against his back and sides. Besides, Robbie was watching him.

They were on holiday, two weeks hiding away in the Brecon Beacons, their request for leave at the same time raising Innocent’s eyebrows but their reasoning that it had been a quiet period and they should take advantage of that grudgingly accepted. Of course they said nothing about spending the two weeks in each other’s company.

He could see Robbie far below, his hand shading his eyes against the light as he followed James’s progress. James had reached the valley floor and skimmed low and fast heading towards his lover. Robbie ducked as he passed over him, so close he could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. James turned and made another pass, Robbie laughing in delight and still laughing when James landed next to him.

“That was incredible!” he said, wrapping his arms around James’s waist and pulling him close. “You know you’re amazing don’t you?”

“This is where I modestly lower my head and say, ‘no you’re the amazing one’,” James

“Daft, sod,” Robbie said chuckling. Then he was serious. “Everything’s good isn’t it? No dreams?”

“Only good ones,” James assured him, folding his wings around them both “Everything is perfect,” he finished, kissing Robbie long and hard to make his point.

It was true. There had been no sign of Hábrók, no whispered voices in his ear and no visions. Whether that would last he didn’t know but if it didn’t he would handle it. He wasn’t alone any more.

James let Robbie lead him back towards their cabin where dreams, strange beings and the reasons for his existence could be put on hold, to be taken out at a later time for the two of them to examine and find answers.

End


End file.
